


I Never Leave Voicemails; I'm Afraid of Becoming an Interlude

by dxdtvelocitee



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Takes place in the 10-yr gap between PR1 and PR:U
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dxdtvelocitee/pseuds/dxdtvelocitee
Summary: He looks pale, Hermann realizes suddenly, pale and shaky, and Hermann’s heart clenches with worry. “Are you ill? Low blood sugar? Headache? How do you mean you’re not feeling well?”“I’m not sure,” Newton says, straightening up slowly. He stares, expressionless, at his hands. “Just not feeling myself today.”________________________________________________Newt's slow descent into possession post-PR1.





	I Never Leave Voicemails; I'm Afraid of Becoming an Interlude

_ >ONE--SAVED--MESSAGE--FROM: DR. N. GEISZLER. 13 JUNE, 2025, 4:30 P.M. HKT.< _

Hermann Gottlieb, 45-year-old Head of K-Science at the Nagasaki Shatterdome, passes a hand over his tired eyes. He really should leave his quiet, empty lab and retire to his bunk. He should attempt to sleep for the few hours that remain before dawn breaks and the Jaeger drone fanatics arrive for their conference. He should delete this ridiculous voicemail he’s meticulously transferred from phone to phone for the last decade of his life. He should stop living in the past.

His phone blinks insistently where he’s propped it on his desk.

> _ DELETE--MESSAGE< _

> _ PLAY--MESSAGE< _

> _ EXIT--VOICEMAIL< _

He was never sentimental before, he thinks, his gaze settling onto an old photo, half-buried in the mess of papers littering his desk. From this angle, he can just barely make out the slope of someone’s shoulder, someone’s thick black glasses, someone’s ripped leather jacket-- 

With a muffled curse, Hermann snags his phone, slams the  _ PLAY   _ button, and collapses back into his chair, allowing the voicemail to drag him a decade into the past. 

 

_ “Hey, uhh, Hermann-- it’s your, eh, unbelievably ditzy fiancé Newt, at, eh, about 4:30 on...Friday the thirteenth. Of course. Just calling to let you know, before you hear it from my TA; I, uh, passed out? Or something. Blacked out. Whatever. One Newt Geiszler, Ph.D., achieved syncope in the exobio lab and I’m, eh, headed home early. So. Yeah. Love you, dude.” _

 

_ MESSAGE--OVER. PRESS--1--TO--REPLAY, 2--TO--SAVE--  _

Hermann Gottlieb, 35-year-old applied mathematics professor at Hong Kong University of Science and Technology, distractedly presses 2 and pockets his phone as he half-stumbles to a halt outside his--or rather, their--apartment. He impatiently fumbles with his keyring, misses the lock once, twice, and thrice before the metal finally slots into place with a soft click.

The first sign that something is off-- after Newon’s disconcerting voicemail, of course-- is the unnatural silence that greets him as the door swings wide. No atrocious 80’s pop blares from the innards of the apartment, the clatter of dishware Hermann’s come to expect from Newton’s many ill-advised culinary experiments is absent, and, strangest of all, Newton’s perpetual monologue (the man talks out loud constantly, alone or not) is conspicuously missing.

“Darling?” Hermann calls softly, uneasy in the atypical stillness. A prickle of alarm ripples down his spine when Newton fails to reply. “Newton!” he calls, louder, as he slams the door shut and toes off his shoes.

The oppressive, unusual quiet presses down around Hermann as he shuffles warily into the apartment. The carpet deadens his footsteps and the regular clacking of his cane to dull thuds. All the lights are off. The last dregs of a sickly yellow sunset filter through the windows, casting black, irregular shadows. As he rounds the corner into the unlit kitchen, his heartbeat suddenly quickens; the hair on the back of his neck raises and he freezes in place, abruptly and absurdly certain that he’s-- 

He’s being watched. 

The corners of the room are murky and the already dim natural light is fading fast, so he can’t be certain, but the longer he looks, the more he thinks the shadow to his left is darker than the one on the right. 

“Newton,” Hermann whispers, his voice more air than sound, “is that you?” 

The shadow doesn’t move. 

Hermann keeps his eyes fixed on the silhouette and reaches blindly for the lightswitch, his other hand clenched white-knuckle around his cane. 

A heart-stopping second passes before the light flares to life to reveal Newton, tucked into the far corner of the kitchen, staring unblinkingly into middle distance, face curiously blank.

“Newton,” Hermann huffs, a confusing mixture of relief and annoyance threatening to overtake him. “What--?” He stops short as his fiancé abruptly shakes his head. 

“Sorry. Spacing out, I guess.” Newton reaches up to rub at his eyes but stops halfway, holding his hand out and away from his body, palm up. “Does this look kinda… blue to you?” 

“Blue?” Hermann asks, closing the space between them with a few rapid steps. He inspects Newton’s outstretched hand from a distance-- blue could mean kaiju contamination, after all-- but he can’t spot anything out of the ordinary. He carefully reaches out to take Newton’s hand in his own. “It looks fine to me. Does it...look blue to you?” 

Newton stares at their interlocked fingers, expression going suddenly and startlingly blank again, like a light’s switched off behind his eyes. Hermann doesn’t like the look of it at all.

“Darling?” he prompts, giving Newton’s hand a light tug.

Newton inhales sharply and shakes his head again before pulling his hand away. “Nope. I’m good. Sorry. Weird day, man, I must be more tired than I thought. I was gonna make dinner too, damn, didn’t realize how late it was getting--” 

“--Newton--” 

“--so what do you say about takeout? Or we’ve still got some rice and, eh, chicken, I think? It might be old. I’m really craving Greek food, honestly, maybe we could make some gyros or something. I’m actually really hungry, though, is the thing, so maybe takeout is better, by virtue of its speed. Takeout Greek? I don’t think that’s a thing around here. Speaking of Greece, remember how everybody thought their economic crash-and-burn was the worst thing ever and then, like, three years later the world economy collapses because giant alien monsters started invading? Really makes you wonder--”

“Please,” Hermann breaks into Newton’s rapidly accelerating monologue,“do not try to distract me with the Greek economic crisis of 2010, no matter how interesting it may be; for God’s sake, you leave me a frankly disconcerting voicemail, neglect to answer any of my subsequent calls, and now you want me to make decisions about dinner? What is going on?” 

Newton rolls his shoulders and braces his hands on the counter in front of him. “I’m really sorry for freaking you out. I promise I’m fine.” 

“You said you passed out? That does not sound ‘fine’ to me-- and do not apologize, you are my top priority, you know I’d do anything for you--” 

“And I you. Can we please,” Newton asks, “get something to eat, though? I’m really not feeling too great right now.” 

He looks pale, Hermann realizes suddenly, pale and shaky, and Hermann’s heart clenches with worry. “Are you ill? Low blood sugar? Headache? How do you mean you’re not feeling well?” 

“I’m not sure,” Newton says, straightening up slowly. He stares, expressionless, at his hands. “Just not feeling myself today.” 

  
  


____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Hermann closes the door softly behind the girl who’s delivered their dinner. He hesitates a second, then latches it. Something in the way Newton is acting has him on edge. 

He steps back into their living room a moment later and sets the bag of takeout on their coffee table with a wry flourish. Newton hums happily, apparently already feeling a little better, and starts unpacking styrofoam boxes as Hermann settles heavily onto the couch beside him. 

“Hey, you got crab rangoons? I thought you hated these!” Newton looks up from the small container he’s just pulled out of the bag with a grin.

“I don’t hate them, I just think they’re terribly inauthentic. And non-Kosher.” 

“We live in Hong Kong, man, we can get authentic food any day of the week. Philly cream cheese and--imitation, so, totally kosher-- crab meat is basically a delicacy when you live eight thousand miles away from Philadelphia.” 

“Delicacy is going a bit far,” Hermann hums, “I think your American upbringing ruined your palate.” 

“German-American,” Newton corrects through a mouthful of rangoon.

“Yes, quite right, German-American,” Hermann concedes, reaching over to amicably pat Newton’s stomach, “I know you love them. I’ll sacrifice the authenticity of my dinner for your happiness any day.”

“What a hero.”

“I did save the world, you know.” 

“Did you? I think it was more of a me thing, dude. I definitely blended my brain with the kaiju more times than you did.” 

“And I ‘blended,’ as you so elegantly put it, my brain with yours, which is something I may never fully recover from,” Hermann says. 

“Yeah? How so?” Newton asks, reaching to pull a box of brown rice out of Hermann’s hands. 

“I find myself being...influenced, for lack of a better word, by your brain at the oddest moments. You know, just yesterday one of my students asked me if I knew what was ‘cooler than being cool.’ Without a moment’s hesitation, I responded ‘ice cold,’ which,” Hermann points an accusing chopstick in Newton’s direction, “is most certainly some odd pop culture reference you left in my brain.”

“Oh, stuff like that. I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes my undergrads ask me really obscure math questions just ‘cause they know it’ll tap into the part of me that’s you. I can monologue for hours on the Riemann hypothesis before I remember I’m not the master mathematician in this relationship.” Newton pauses, then adds “Crazy how the Drift is still screwing with us,” in a carefully neutral tone.

“I never would have expected the aftereffects to linger this long,” Hermann agrees cautiously, sensing the shift in Newton’s mood. 

“Do you ever wonder…” Newton taps a restless rhythm on the coffee table. 

“Do I ever wonder what?” Hermann asks, but Newton just shakes his head, confused.

A few moments pass in silence before Hermann clears his throat and asks: “Does this have anything to do with your passing out in the lab?” 

“Mm. It might.” 

“Newton.” Hermann says, half worried, half exasperated. 

“Look, I don’t know, just...chill for a second while I figure out how to explain this.” 

Hermann picks a rangoon out of the box in Newton’s lap and says nothing.

“It’s the weirdest thing,” Newton starts, and then breaks off, toying with the edge of a styrofoam container. “Okay. So, basically all I was doing was cleaning up some spilled sodium hydroxide, washing out a few beakers, y’know, standard post lab stuff, when I hear this… this sort of scraping, clattery noise. And then a solid, weighty splash. Sort of like someone dropping a water balloon. Or a piece of raw meat.” Newton shivers and pushes his glasses up. “Now, my first thought is that some grad students have decided to prank me.” 

“Let me guess,” Hermann says, forcing himself to sound calm despite the undercurrent of unease he’s picking up through their Drift bond,“you were hit by an unfortunately well aimed water balloon?” He glances up when Newton doesn’t respond. “Or was it something else?” 

A spike of genuine terror flashes briefly in the drift between them and Hermann shoves the takeout away, reaching for Newton’s hand. His skin is cool to the touch. “What happened?” Hermann urges, covering Newton’s hand with his own. “Please, darling, I’m worried--” 

The term of endearment seems to break something in Newton. He falls forward slightly, hiding his face in Hermann’s shoulder. A few moments pass before Newton manages to rasp: “It was Mutavore.” 

Hermann’s blood runs cold. 

“Mutavore?” he asks gently, terror icing his veins. “What do you mean Mutavore? Striker Eureka killed it in January; you dissected it, drifted with it, even. Mutavore is gone, Newton, it’s dead.” 

Newton slowly shakes his head, his untameable hair tickling Hermann’s jaw. “I thought so too, but now I’m not so sure. I was looking around this, this dark lab, checking for water-balloon toting grad students or a lost TA or whatever made that sound, y’know, and, get this-- the tank that holds that chunk of Mutavore’s brain? The one I drifted with? The lid was off.” 

“It could have been a student. Maybe a lab tech forgot to close it,” Hermann argues, rubbing a hand up and down Newton’s spine. 

“No. Because,” Newton shudders and fists his hands in the back of Hermann’s sweater, “because the brain was moving. Twitching, sort of. And the worst part? It had a secondary limb-- I guess you’d probably call it a tentacle-- entirely outside the tank. Kind of searching around. So I see this supposedly dead, formalin-fixed hunk of meat actively moving and I promptly freak out.” 

“Understandable,” Hermann says, when the pause in Newton’s story stretches too long. 

“Yeah. Ugh. There I am, looking at this tank, and I’m terrified, but like any well-trained scientist, my lab safety instincts kick in. I go to call a code orange, but then I start thinking, do I really want to expose a hazmat team to an active piece of kaiju brain? I’m the world’s preeminent kaiju biologist. If anyone can handle this, it’s me, right? Priority one is always gonna be protecting civilians from the kaiju.” 

“ _ You _ are a civilian,” Hermann half-whispers, feeling a sharp stab of something like dread splice through his ribcage. 

“That’s what you’re focusing on, out of all of this? Okay, whatever-- I spot the tank lid on the floor, close to the base, so I lean in and grab it, making sure I’m clear of the secondary limb. All good so far, so I pull on a pair of forearm-high insulated gloves because safety first and start shoving the thing back in its box.” 

“You willingly touched a live kaiju sample? Of all the idiotic, irresponsible, unsafe lab practices--” 

“Hey,” Newton cuts him off, “don’t give me that. Every day for the last decade my job was to stick my hands inside of kaiju parts. Touching the outside of an--admittedly-- potentially alive sample barely registers in comparison. Not to mention the thing was fully detoxed. The most dangerous thing about it should have been the formalin I preserved it in.” 

“‘Should have’?” Hermann quotes, pulling Newton closer to his chest. “Explain, please.” 

“Yeah. That’s where things get weird. So I’ve got it almost totally contained at this point, and I go to lift the last length of the limb back into the tank when-- I don’t want to say my grip slipped, because I don’t think it did. It was more like the thing...slithered through my hands. Like a python. Anyway, the thing just barely glides across my temple here,” Newton untangles a hand from Hermann’s sweater and indicates a spot just above his brow, “and I feel this-- I think the best word for it is shock. You ever touch a Van de Graaff generator--?” Hermann nods slightly, and Newton continues, “Yeah, it felt just like that but inside my brain. Then I blink and I’m standing outside the lab...approximately twenty minutes after the last thing I remember.”

“Mein Gott,” Hermann says into Newton’s hair, “mein Gott, are you alright? You could be concussed, I think we should get you to a hospital--” 

“I know. I know. But I feel fine though. I feel good, actually. No headache, no fatigue, no dizziness, no nausea, my eyesight is terrible sans corrective lenses but it’s like that usually. I felt off earlier, yeah, but I think I just needed to eat something.” 

“You and I are both too smart to pass off twenty missing minutes as nothing.” 

“Yeah, but,” Newton counters, “we’re also too smart to miss the symptoms of a concussion. And I’m clearly not concussed. What would I even be concussed from? Nothing hit me.” 

Hermann leans back and catches Newton’s eye. “If you passed out, you could have hit your head in the fall.” 

“Yeah. About that. I don’t necessarily...think I fell? I haven’t got any bruises, and I don’t remember feeling, you know, any of the hallmarks of syncope—dim vision, dizziness, numbness. It’s just like I teleported twenty minutes into the future.” Newton breaks eye contact and stares at a spot somewhere over Hermann’s shoulder. 

Hermann’s stomach fills with dread. “So, correct me if I’m wrong,” he says delicately. “You came into skin-to-skin contact with a living kaiju specimen and then had a twenty minute mnemonic blackout?” 

Newton hesitates, then nods silently. 

“Newton, you have to know what this looks like. We made a promise to Marshal Hansen. We have to notify--”

“No!” Newton half-shouts, before dropping his head into his hands. “No. I know-- I know this looks like lingering mental continuity with the kaiju, but it can’t be. I know it isn’t.”

“If not, how do you propose to explain--” 

“Formalin inhalation.” 

“Excuse me?” Hermann asks incredulously.

“Formalin inhalation,” Newton states again, atypically subdued. “I inhaled too much formaldehyde vapor from the open kaiju tank, so my airways got irritated. Irritated airways lead to inflamed airways, which means no oxygen for the brain-- that’s hypoxia, baby. Low O2 levels in the brain screw with the hippocampus and prevents memory formation during and immediately after the event. Simple.” 

“Simple,” Hermann repeats dryly. “And how does hypoxia explain the shock you felt?” 

“I don’t know, man, maybe Mutavore’s brain has some sort of...latent bioelectrogenesis capabilities?” 

“Bioelectrogenesis. Like an eel, you mean? Odd that the kaiju piece has never demonstrated this ability before,” Hermann says, raising a single eyebrow. “Be reasonable. I’m taking you to see a doctor.”

“You’re a doctor. I’m a doctor in sextuplicate,” Newton says. 

“I mean a medical physician. I cannot understand why you are being so obstinate about this--”

“Oh? You can’t think of one single reason I might hesitate to--” 

“No, I can’t, you may be occasionally impulsive but you’ve never been downright reckless before--” 

“Reckless? Reckless-- Hermann, I’m not being reckless, I’m being cautious. I know exactly what’ll happen to me if anyone— wrongly, by the way— suspects I’m in contact with the anteverse.” Newton leans out of Hermann’s reach. “Best case scenario, I get locked up in an observational psych ward for the rest of my life. Worst case scenario, I get dissected. Get the picture?”

“They wouldn’t,” Hermann tries to say, but his mouth runs dry and the words come out as no more than a breath of air. He wets his lips and tries again. “They wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let them do that to you.” 

“I know. But if they can’t get to me, they’d come after you.” A beat passes, and Newton sighs. “I don’t even know why we’re taking this possibility seriously. Honestly, I’m all good. I may be careless sometimes, and a little immature, but I’m not stupid. I’m not. I know how dangerous the kaiju can be. And I would never--”  he reaches out and gently tugs on Hermann’s collar for emphasis, “--never, ever consciously put anybody in danger. I know both human biology and kaiju biology better than any so-called medical professional you care to name. I know my own mind better than anybody else does, except for maybe you. When I say I’m okay, I mean it. So,” Newton shifts his hands upwards until they’re cupping Hermann’s face, “please don’t worry about me. And please trust that I would tell you if something was wrong.” 

“Of course I trust you.” Hermann sighs and considers Newt carefully, his wide green eyes behind his overlarge glasses, his disheveled hair, his too-loose tie, and relents. “Fine. If you’re certain you do not require medical attention, then I suppose there’s no reason to call the Shatterdome.” 

Newton sags against his chest in relief. 

“--but. You need to promise me one thing.” Hermann gently tilts Newton’s chin up until they’re eye-to-eye. 

“Sure.” 

“I know the possibility of this being something more insidious than a concussion is astronomically low, but in the off chance that you notice anything out of the ordinary-- more missing time, fainting, hell, even nightmares--” 

“More nightmares than normal, you mean?” Newton asks with an innocent grin. 

“Yes. More than normal. If you notice anything, you must tell me immediately.” 

“So you can drag me to the hospital.” 

“No. So I can take care of you. I won’t do anything that would risk your safety, your autonomy, or your freedom. Because you are my fiancé, because we’ve seen inside each other’s minds, because you are the man I have loved for a decade, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. You have my word,” Hermann says, pressing his forehead to Newton’s. 

“Ooh, Hermann, did you just say you love me? Scandalous!” Newton grins, leaning forward to steal a chaste kiss. 

“Newton, we’re to be married in less than a month. How could a declaration of love possibly be construed as scanda--”

Newton cuts him off with another kiss, this one much deeper than the last. “Shut up, I literally love you so much, you have no idea.” 

“Well,” Hermann hedges, feeling the bond between them thrum with warmth, “I think I have some idea.” 

“Yeah, maybe you do. You always know what to say, man. Sorry for freaking you out. I freaked myself out, if you wanna be real about it.” 

“Yes, well. It’s over now. You’re safe.” Hermann cards his fingers through Newton’s slightly outgrown haircut. “How about we just stay home and rest tomorrow? You can finally show me one of those terrible eighties movies you’re so in love with. The, eh, the  _ Brunch Club _ is one, yes?” 

This manages to pull a genuine, if quiet, laugh out of Newton. Hermann counts it as a victory. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oof this is starting a little fluffy but it's gonna get pretty angsty in the next few chapters ..,,,,
> 
> I was so frustrated when I saw PR:U cause I was hoping we'd get more detail about /how/ Newt got possessed. Especially because Hermann seemed to have no idea leading up to Newt's Big Villain Reveal™ and uhh,, yeah, so I'm gonna be writin what I think happened in those ten years between the movies :^] 
> 
> Lemme know if you liked this//if you're interested in seeing more..! I'm dxdtvelocitee on tumblr; please stop by to send me prompts, to get fic updates, or just to say hi!!


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